Micmacs Review
Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Micmacs has all the appeal of an aggressive mime harassing you on a park bench when you just want to be left alone. Worse, it shares the mime’s same smug certainty that it is the height of entertaining whimsy when in fact you’d like to toss it off a cliff, watching it scramble to climb an invisible rope, its soon-to-be-useless body turning end over end getting smaller and smaller and smaller as it articulates one last silent mime-scream before finally meeting the ground violently and permanently in a mushroom cloud of cartoon dust.
Jeunet’s manically absurd style that once seemed fresh in Delicatassen or that was once attached to a story in The City of Lost Children has in Micmacs been distilled down to an irritating collection of busy set pieces performed by a band of mugging sideshow freaks. It’s not a movie. It’s an endurance test and I redlined right about the time we were introduced to a contortionist who unfolded herself from within a tiny refrigerator like some kind of freakish four-legged spider all in the name of quirky imagination.











